


glass needles in the hay

by glyphsbowtie



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- Literally, Angst, Angst and Romance, But another Steve Rogers is alive, Dimension Travel, Dubious Science, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Canon, Second Chances, Steve Rogers is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-02 05:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16298627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsbowtie/pseuds/glyphsbowtie
Summary: To save half of everyone in the universe, Steve Rogers sacrificed himself, leaving behind a heroic legacy, a world free of Thanos' threat, and his heartbroken boyfriend Bucky Barnes, who isn't coping too well.Meanwhile, in another universe, Steve Rogers is living his life as Captain America without his best friend Bucky, who died in 1945. A freak scientific accident sends him hurtling to another world- one where he died a hero, and where Bucky is very much alive.





	1. chase your dreams away

**Author's Note:**

> And you can't resist  
> Making me feel  
> Eternally missed  
> \- Muse

_ Here lies Steven Grant Rogers, July 4 1918- December 29 2018. Beloved hero, dear friend and cherished partner. With you till the end of the line. _

Bucky swallows, hard, his eyes filled with tears. Heartache is a physical pain, and although Bucky has become numb to almost every physical agony, nothing could have ever prepared him for this.

It’s been six months, but every time he comes back here, he breaks.

The day is dark and frosty, and in the shadows of the graveyard, Bucky Barnes stands in a thick grey hoodie, his thick dark hair falling in a damp tangle over his wet eyes. One hand is on the top of the gravestone, stroking it gently. His left sleeve hangs empty, tied in a knot.

“I miss you,” he chokes out. “I love you, Steve. God damn it, I love you so much.”

And then the anger starts, rising up like acidic bile in the back of his throat. It tastes horrible, and he knows it’s unfair, but it comes spilling out regardless.

“Why did you fucking do it, Steve? It could have been anybody- anybody else-”

But it couldn’t have been, and deep down, Bucky knows this. Only Steve Rogers, the noble and heroic shit, could have sacrificed himself to save literally half of existence. He probably didn’t even hesitate.

The bastard.

“The world never changed you,” Bucky sighs, almost smiling through his tears. “You were always that pissed off little guy who couldn’t back down from a fight.”

He turns to head back to the Tower, shivering inside his hoodie. It’s not getting easier. It feels like they had such a short amount of time together; they were together their whole lives, in many ways, but their time as a couple was painfully brief.

Bucky can’t remember a time when he  _ wasn’t  _ absolutely, painfully, madly in love with his best friend. It wasn’t what people did back when they were kids, two young men living together in that miserable little apartment in Brooklyn. That was why, despite the way Steve made him feel when he curled around him in the mornings in their shared bed, Bucky had dated a string of girls. They hadn’t ever talked about it.

When Bucky had finally snapped out of being the Winter Soldier (not that it had been a  _ snap,  _ and to be fair the idea of a  _ snapping _ is still quite raw) and become almost the way he was before, it was because of Steve. Bucky was never going to be  _ his  _ Bucky again, but he was almost the same, and it was because of the way that Steve gently waited and listened and loved him.

And they became a couple.

And then Bucky died, along with half of everyone else.

And then Steve died.

Bucky is very, very glum when he reaches the Tower, and he wants to slink up to the room he previously shared with Steve. But when he gets there, Tony is standing by the door, leaning heavily on the cane he uses all the time now when he’s out of his Iron Man suit. He is engaged in a serious conversation with Bruce, who looks pale. They both look up, alarmed, as the soaked Winter Soldier enters.

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, exhausted, looking between them warily. Tony hated him for a very, very long time, but since Steve died, he’s been lovely to him. It’s sometimes too much for Bucky.

“Um, an experiment went wrong,” Bruce tells him, rubbing his beard in a fretful fashion.

“Can I do anything?” Bucky asks, praying the answer is no.

“No,” Tony says. Thank God. “We’re just waiting for Peter to come check it out with us.”

“Great,” Bucky says. He has a date with a bottle of whiskey and his bed. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to track down Thor and get him to share his own potent alcohol.

* * *

Rain is pouring down, a thick sheet of heavy, dark drops pounding down on the world. It casts a gloomy mood in the graveyard, the oppressive clouds weighing heavily down, hiding the distant sun. The air is cool, and the man sitting on his knees before the gravestone is wearing a black woollen pea coat, a small lump at the back where his shield is attached to his belt, and a navy blue scarf is pulled up high around his throat. The falling water plasters his blond hair to his forehead, darkening it so that the emerging grey streaks are disguised. It’s impossible to tell which trails on his cheeks are rain, and which are tears.

He is holding a bunch of flowers, pale yellow roses, and he places them delicately at the base of the headstone, trailing his fingers across the name carved into the stone. Time has worn them, and he can barely feel the grooves beneath his fingers.

_ Here lies James Buchanan Barnes, March 10 1917- September 12 1945. Soldier, friend and hero. With you till the end of the line. _

Steve Rogers exhales shakily, reaching up to wipe his face.

“I miss you, pal,” he says, as he does every time he visits the graveyard. “I don’t know what you’d make of this weird world. I think you would like it.”

He thinks back to what it was like before, in the days and years preceding the war: their little apartment, damp and cramped, and long nights spent awake, whispering in the dark. The way Steve had loved Bucky, loved him in a way that wasn’t acceptable or normal back then.

He has no idea if Bucky ever felt the same way, but he rather suspects that he might have done.

“It would be fine now,” he whispers to the gravestone. He thinks of Buck’s bright, grey-green eyes, the way they glittered at him when they woke up in the morning together, bodies curled around one another. “If we wanted to… and it would be fine if you didn’t want to, as well. I just miss you. I wish I had told you how I felt.”

Something is wrong. Steve feels like something is tugging him forward, like iron hands around his shoulders, and he isn’t strong enough to fight it; he goes sprawling forward, landing on his face in the dirt before Bucky’s headstone.

He thinks perhaps he loses consciousness for a few moments, because when he opens his eyes, it’s not raining anymore, and it’s darker than it was before. He blinks, wondering what the hell happened, and pushes himself up to his knees again, wiping the soil out of his face.

“Sorry, Buck,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “That was quite rude, lying across your grave.”

But when he has cleared his eyes, he realises it wasn’t Bucky’s grave at all. The words on the headstone are clear and fresh.

_ Here lies Steven Grant Rogers, July 4 1918- December 29 2018. Beloved hero, dear friend and cherished partner. With you till the end of the line. _

“What the-?” Steve breathes, and he feels the strongest rush of panic he’s experienced in years. He has to be dreaming. It’s June 2019, after all, and he is very much not dead.

Right?

His fingers have curled around the edges of the gravestone, and he’s gripping onto it tightly. He’s vaguely aware that if he’s not careful his enhanced strength is going to  _ easily _ tear his own gravestone out of the ground, but he can’t persuade his own fingers to relax. He’s breathing heavily.

“Holy  _ shit,”  _ comes a voice from behind him. “Tony was right.”

Steve is on his feet automatically, his training kicking in, and the shield is clutched in his hand. The guy who spoke is perched in the branches of a tree just above him, dressed in red and blue spandex.

“Who the  _ hell  _ are you?” Steve demands. “What is going on?”

The spandex-clad man cocks his head, the bright white eyes of his mask narrowing. He leaps down lightly from the tree, and Steve wonders if he should throw the shield at him. But then, the mystery man pulls the mask from his face. He’s just a kid beneath there, with a shock of brown hair and big, round eyes, currently brimming with tears.

“Don’t you remember me?” he asks, and the words are choked.

Steve shakes his head, lowering his shield. “Have we met?” he asks. “Do you know what’s going on? Where’s James Barnes’ grave, kid?”

The boy gasps, eyes going even wider. “Shit,” he says, decisively.


	2. exorcise the demons from your past

The kid in the spandex swallows, his pronounced Adam’s apple bobbing up and down visibly. He looks like he wants to reach for Steve, his fingers raising awkwardly then lowering again. “I’m Peter Parker,” he says, and his voice is full of hope, hope that Steve is going to recognise the name.

But Steve hasn’t ever heard of a kid named Peter Parker. He shrugs, helpless, absolutely unaware of what is going on here. He’s in the wrong place, and he knows that, but he can’t figure out how he got here or why this place is wrong. “Steve Rogers,” he offers, then remembers that Peter obviously already knows him.

Peter gives him a grim smile. A tear breaks free from one of his eyes and trails despondently down his lightly freckled cheek. “I know,” he says, softly.

“I’m Captain America,” Steve adds, unhelpfully. He isn’t sure why he says it; perhaps he’s not Captain America here? In this strange place, apparently he’s dead. The thought sets off a wave of nausea and panic, and he shivers.

“I know,” Peter repeats, soothingly now. He steps forward slowly and places a small hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I think you’re about to have a panic attack, Cap. Deep breaths.”

Steve wants to push him away and scream, but he can’t risk hurting the little guy. He nods, taking a deep breath through his nose and then releasing it slowly through his mouth. The rush of fresh, cool air helps, and he does it again, feeling the clenching sensation inside his chest unknot a little.

“There, bit better?” Peter asks.

Steve nods. “You’re good at this, kid.”

Peter nods. His eyes are round and earnest. “Got to be,” he says. “Wade has a lot of panic attacks.”

“Wade,” Steve repeats. Finally, a name he knows. “Wade Wilson?”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “You know Wade?”

“Yeah. Deadpool, right? He’s one of the best Avengers I have.”

Peter is pulling a sceptical face. “Wade Wilson. Deadpool. He’s an Avenger?”

Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be? Wade can’t die, and he’s one of the most skilled fighters Steve has ever met. He can be difficult at times, but his heart is very much in the right place. “How do you know him?” Steve asks Peter.

“I live with him,” Peter replies.

“Is that why you’re dressed like a superhero?” Steve asks.

Peter finally gives him a genuine smile. It lights up his whole face. “I  _ am  _ a superhero, Cap. I’m Spider-Man.”

Then where the hell is Miles Morales? Steve has the horrible, overwhelming, helpless feeling in his chest again, and he reaches up instinctively to wrap his hand around Peter’s. Peter squeezes his fingers, comfortingly, as Steve begins his deep breathing again.

Distantly, he hears a car stop. Footsteps approach them, and as the haze of panic lifts, he turns to see Bruce Banner accompanied by a man leaning heavily on a cane. They are hurrying over.

“Bruce,” Steve breathes. He’s incredibly, indescribably happy to see someone he knows. He moves away from Peter, taking a step towards his friend. “Bruce! Do you know what is going on?”

Bruce rakes a hand through the beard on his chin. Steve hasn’t seen him in a couple of days, but he’s fairly certain that Bruce was clean-shaven last time they spoke. He looks dreadful; there’s a lot of grey hair at his temples and in his beard, and deep bags beneath his eyes. He looks thoughtfully at Steve before replying. “I think I do,” he says.

“Do you care to tell me?”

Bruce glances at the man leaning on the cane. He has bright eyes behind thick glasses, and they are fixed on Steve, intense and serious.

“What do you think might be going on?” the man asks.

“I was just visiting my friend’s grave. I felt something tug me and I ended up here. It’s the same but different,” Steve says, eyeing the man with suspicion. “Apparently that’s my grave.”

The man makes a clicking noise with his tongue, then turns to look at Bruce. “I think we should discuss it back at the Tower.”

Bruce nods. “Steve, come with us, please,” he says.

Steve exhales. He is still clutching the shield, and he looks down at it, trying to remind himself to not to panic. He trusts Bruce. He doesn’t know these other men, but Bruce is a good guy. Wherever he has ended up, Bruce can be relied on.

“Okay,” he replies finally.

Bruce, Peter and the other man lead him over to a sleek, black car. A driver is waiting, his eyes turned discretely away from Steve. The man with the cane climbs into the front passenger seat, and Steve finds himself pressed between Bruce and Peter; it’s a nice car, but still a tight fit. Steve is a huge human, Bruce Banner isn’t exactly small and, despite his slim frame, Peter just seems to take up a lot of room.

The car pulls away smoothly. Steve takes a deep breath.

“How do you know Peter?” he asks Bruce.

Bruce blinks. He presses his fingers against his temple. “He’s an Avenger,” he says.

“He isn’t,” Steve replies, surprised.

“He is here, Capsicle.” The man in the front seat turns around and gives Steve a searching look. “I’m guessing you don’t know a Peter Parker?”

Steve shakes his head.

“But you know Bruce and I?”

“I don’t know you,” Steve tells him.

The man in the front seat raises his eyebrows, looking genuinely stunned. “I’m not… wow. Didn’t think there would be a universe without Tony Stark.”

“Are you saying I’m from a different  _ universe?”  _ Steve breathes, leaning forward. His whole body feels numb. How can he possibly be in a different universe? The idea is preposterous. But then… so is the idea of being frozen in a block of ice for almost a century. He’s sweating and shaking, but it’s not  _ impossible  _ to believe.

“We can talk about it when we get back,” Tony Stark says.

Steve glances at Bruce, who is giving him a soft and pitying look. “There is a Tony Stark in my universe,” Steve says, and he knows the words come out with an edge. “I don’t like him. He’s an arms dealer.”

Tony’s face betrays him; it’s calm and collected, but there is a split second when it’s horrified. “I see,” he says, smoothly, then turns his head away.

“So you’re still alive in your universe,” Peter Parker pipes up suddenly, in a bright voice.

“It appears I was, at least until I got thrown into this one.” Steve mulls over the idea that another Steve Rogers is dead in this place. “What happened… to me? To him? The other me.”

Bruce reaches across Steve and places his hand on Peter’s knee. “We can discuss it when we get back,” he says, and the words are firm, aimed at Peter.

They spend the rest of the journey in silence. Steve is thinking hard. Something has gone very,  _ very  _ wrong and he’s ended up here. The New York they travel through is very similar to the one he knows; the same buildings and shops, the same late-night revellers tripping merrily down the streets. It’s almost possible to forget he’s anywhere different at all, in fact, apart from the fact that he’s dead and buried in this city.

He needs to sleep. Moreover, he needs to discuss this with someone.

“Where’s Bucky’s- James Barnes’- grave?” he asks suddenly, as the car pulls into a large garage beneath the building that Steve knows as Stark Tower.

Tony whips around at that, his face dark. “James Barnes?” he repeats, his eyes flicking from Steve, to Bruce and Peter.

“He was my best friend,” Steve says, glumly. “He died in 1945. He was a hero.” Perhaps Buck had simply never existed in this world. The idea of a world without Bucky, of a Steve Rogers growing up without his best friend, hurts.

Sure, Steve lost Buck, but at least he’d had him for a while.

“He sounds like quite a guy,” Tony says as the car stops.

“He was the best,” Steve replies.

They climb out. The parking garage is sterile and white, filled with lots of expensive looking cars and a huge black motorcycle leaning against the wall by the glass door to the elevator.

The four of them walk through the door, standing by the elevator doors in awkward silence. There is no button to call the elevator, but the lights above the doors suggest that it is making its way down.

“How does it know-?” Steve asks.

Bruce takes pity on him. “Avengers Tower is equipped with an artificial intelligence, JARVIS. JARVIS detected that we’d arrived.”

“Good evening, Captain Rogers,” a disembodied voice rings out. “How pleasant to see you again. Doctor Banner, thank you for your support, but I did not send the elevator down to you.”

“Then why is it coming down?” Tony asks, frowning.

“Sergeant Barnes requested eleven months ago that I alert him whenever Captain Rogers arrives home,” JARVIS replies. “He entered the elevator when I said-”

“Oh shit,” Tony says.

“Sergeant  _ Barnes?”  _ Steve says, and the words come out in a breathless rush. “Bucky? He’s here?”

He’s going to see Bucky. He’s going to see Bucky, alive. Sure, Buck will be an old man now, but he’s alive, and Steve is going to get to speak with him and touch him and maybe even tell him… Steve’s heart is racing. He’s aware of Bruce saying something, something urgent, but he can’t hear it. He’s focused on the elevator doors and on the man who is going to be standing there when they open.

Bucky. The love of his life. The most important person he ever met.

The doors slide apart smoothly.


	3. nobody said it was easy

The man standing in the doorway has a thick, glossy mane of dark hair which frames his narrow, handsome face. Bright eyes sparkle as he makes eye contact with Steve, and a slow, devastating grin opens his mouth. He’s wearing a white shirt and dark jeans.

It’s Loki.

Steve moves towards him instinctively, one hand reaching for his shield. “It’s Loki!” he shouts, unnecessarily.

Loki seems to realise with some surprise that he is being attacked; he raises his hands and takes a step back. “Captain Rogers-” he says, smoothly.

Bruce grabs Steve’s shoulders. “Steve, Loki isn’t a threat,” he says.

But… but he is a threat. Steve last saw this grinning, ridiculous god in his own version of New York three years ago. He had killed several people. He planned to kill many more. But here, apparently, this smirking would-be tyrant is a friend of the Avengers.

“Bruce is right,” Tony says, stepping in between them. “I know it’s hard to imagine, but this sleazy asshole has mostly redeemed himself.”

Steve opens his mouth to throw an acidic comment, but his eye is drawn to the body sprawled on the floor in the corner of the elevator. It’s a young man, broad and muscular, with a lank shock of brown hair covering his face.

Apparently, Tony’s attention has been caught by this, as well. “Loki, tell me you didn’t-?”

“You wanted him to come down here and confront the new Steve Rogers without warning?” Loki asks, sniffily. “Trust me, I did you all a favour.”

“What did you do to him?” Bruce demands.

“I merely put him to sleep. He’ll be right as rain come sunrise.” Loki throws the man a disparaging glance. “He’s drunk, as usual.”

And Steve knows exactly who it is.

Even though it  _ can’t _ be.

He pushes Bruce’s hands away with more strength than he probably should, striding towards the elevator. Loki steps aside, apparently sensing that Steve is not about to be stopped.

Steve falls to his knees beside the man, reaching first for his pulse. As his fingers grope the strong neck, the greasy hair falls back from his face, revealing that it is, indeed, James Buchanan Barnes, looking not a day older than Steve. How is it possible? Buck’s over a hundred years old now, and yet he’s here with an unlined, handsome face. His beard (his  _ beard?  _ Since when did Buck have a beard?) is mostly dark, with only a few silver hairs.

“He’s not dead,” Steve breathes. He hasn’t moved his hand from Bucky’s neck. He’s warm and soft beneath Steve’s fingers. Steve can’t believe that he has his hand on Bucky for the first time since 1945. Tears are falling freely down his cheeks.

“Of course he isn’t,” Loki says, sounding offended. “I simply knocked him out, Captain Rogers.”

“He’s dead in Steve’s universe,” Bruce says, very softly.

But he’s very much not dead here. He stirs beneath Steve’s hand, making a small, grunty noise which Steve remembers from many mornings with his hungover best friend. He turns his head slightly, so that the soft lengths of his hair touch Steve’s fingers.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve whispers.

“I’ll carry him back to his room so you can talk,” Loki says to Tony.

“You won’t touch him again.” Steve snarls the words. He lifts Bucky in his arms, standing up with him cradled against his chest. He’s still crying, the tears falling and getting caught in Bucky’s beard. Bucky is wearing a soft hoodie, and Steve realises with a jolt of horror that he has no left arm.

What happened to Buck? How is he still so young? How did he lose an arm?

“Well, then,” Tony says, shrugging.

Tony, Bruce and Peter all step into the elevator, and none of them says anything. Tony is looking at Loki, his expression dark, and Bruce is looking steadily at the floor. Peter gives Steve a sympathetic look as the doors slide closed and the elevator begins to rise.

Bucky Barnes is in his arms.

How can this possibly be? It seems cruel, almost, that this Bucky Barnes is now alone in a universe without Steve, while Steve has been alone in his own universe without Bucky for a long time. Bucky clearly isn’t taking Steve’s death well; Loki suggested that he’s drunk a lot of the time, and he certainly smells of alcohol.

Poor Buck.

And this adds something else to this whole strange situation, doesn’t it? If Bucky is here… why would Steve want to leave? If leaving is even an option, of course, but if it is… well, why would he?

But then, it’s not like Steve can simply take the place of the dead Captain America. Presumably, the world mourned for him.

His head hurts.

The elevator stops on the ninth floor. Loki steps out into the sleek, shiny corridor and looks at Steve with an unreadable expression.

“I’ll take him from here, Captain Rogers. You need to go and speak with Tony.”

Steve can’t bring himself to hand over Bucky to Loki. His fingers clench around Bucky’s hoodie. He knows he is shaking his head, but no words come out.

“Captain Rogers,” comes another familiar voice, and Thor appears beside his brother. He seems to have stepped out of a doorway, but it’s impossible to rule out him simply materialising. “I will take your slumbering friend to his chamber. I promise no harm shall come to him.”

And Steve does trust Thor, who is someone he has spent a lot of time with. So he allows Thor to step forward to the elevator and lift the surprisingly muscular frame of his former best friend out of his arms.

“Thank you,” Thor says, softly, his eyes kind. He steps back and the doors slide shut again.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks Steve, as the elevator begins to rise again.

Steve exhales. He is looking down at his own hands in mild wonder, hardly able to believe that they were just wrapped around Bucky. His fingers are trembling. “I’m… I’m fine.”

“It’s understandable that this is quite a lot to deal with,” Bruce tells him.

Steve looks up at him. He  _ knows _ Bruce, he’s seen him break down about his green problem and cry after an argument with Thor. But he doesn’t know  _ this _ Bruce Banner. He can’t talk to him about his feelings. So he simply shrugs.

“Rogers is fine,” Tony says, briskly. “He’s good at this sort of thing.”

The elevator stops, and they step out into a large office. Three of the tall walls are entirely glass, offering a spectacular panoramic view of the city. A large mahogany conference table sits in the centre, surrounded by leather chairs. Tony leads them over, his weight resting heavily on the cane.

Steve finds himself sitting in between Peter and Bruce, with Tony sat on the other side. He turns his head towards the windows, watching as the sky turns from blue to pink. From up here, it all looks the same. How can he possibly be in an entirely different world?

“Do you know how this happened?” he asks, finally.

“Sort of,” Bruce says. “It’s our fault.”

Tony gives Bruce a dark look. “Well, I suppose one could argue that it’s partly our fault, at least. We were experimenting with some… complicated science. I don’t know how to explain in a way you’d understand.”

Steve makes a face. “Why wouldn’t I understand?”

“Well, you might not know me in your universe, but I know you in this one, and our Steve Rogers was a bit of a troglodyte, to be honest.”

“Do you… do you know how to send me back?” Steve asks, reluctantly. He isn’t sure he’s going to go easily when Bucky Barnes is sleeping a few floors below him.

“I’m afraid not,” Bruce replies. “We probably  _ can.  _ We just don’t know how yet.”

“I bet Shuri can help,” Peter says, brightly.

“So you need to stay here until we figure it out,” Tony says, waving his hands and leaning back, as though this is not a massive, life-changing deal. “Steve Rogers is dead here. He died six months ago.”

“How did he die?” Steve asks, and the words come out quietly.

Tony pulls a face, as though he is trying to think about how to phrase his answer. It’s Peter who replies, in the end, leaning towards Steve and pressing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“He saved everyone. We were fighting Thanos- do you have him in your universe?” When Steve shakes his head, Peter continues. “He wanted to destroy half of everyone. He did, actually, destroy half of everyone. Me included.” Peter looks troubled. “Then Steve… sacrificed himself. Saved everyone.”

“He’s a hero,” Bruce adds. “He always was.”

“Anyway,” Tony interrupts smoothly, before Steve can try to think of an appropriate response to this, “it means that you can’t really leave the Tower. It might freak people out if they see you. Lots of the Avengers live here. I guess you know some of them already, but apparently the Avengers are slightly different in your universe. Out of interest, who do you think the Avengers are?”

“There’s Bruce Banner, Miles Morales- our Spider-Man-” Steve looks at Peter with a wry smile. “There’s Deadpool, Black Widow, Thor and Hawkeye.”

“Deadpool,” Bruce says, in much the same tone Peter used earlier. “Wade Wilson. He’s an Avenger.”

“Yes,” Steve says.

“It doesn’t surprise me at all that he’s a multi-universal constant,” Tony sighs.

“He isn’t an Avenger here?”

“No, more like a vague annoyance,” Tony replies.

“Hey!” Peter says, making a face. “Although, speaking of Wade, I need to get back soon.”

“Do you two not live here?” Steve asks him.

“No, Tony and you- well, Steve, the other one- they didn’t approve,” Peter says, rolling his eyes.

“Approve of…? Oh, are you two a thing?” Steve asks. He feels his own face twisting. Wade Wilson, at least the one he knows, is in his late thirties. Peter looks… young.

“Don’t make that face. It’s not like you’re a heterosexual man,” Peter snaps, suddenly defensive.

“That’s not what I meant!” Steve says, raising his hands. “It’s just… you’re so young, Peter.”

“He’s not as young as he looks,” Bruce soothes, placing a hand on Steve’s arm. “He’s twenty four.”

“I’m twenty five, actually,” Peter says, glaring at them both.

“Whatever,” Tony shrugs. “Steve and I don’t approve of Wade because he’s an asshole, Pete.”

And it doesn’t escape Steve’s notice that Tony is referencing  _ Steve and I,  _ and using the present tense. But something else has his attention. He looks at Peter.

“What do you mean,  _ it’s not like I’m a heterosexual man?”  _ he demands.

He’s hardly out, at least in his universe. It’s not that he’s ashamed, it’s just that there isn’t anyone for him to be interested in, since his entire capacity for romantic love died in 1945. Maybe the Steve Rogers from this world felt differently.

Peter looks like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s just… well, aren’t you and…?”

Was Steve Rogers in a relationship with someone before he died? Who?

“Tell me about James Barnes,” Tony says, suddenly.

Oh,  _ fuck. _

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were in a relationship here before Steve died.

Steve’s fingers are wrapped around the arms of his chair firmly. He feels sick. He feels envious. He exhales shakily. “He was my best friend. We lived together before the war, before I was… like this. He died in 1945.”

“I see,” Tony says.

“But he didn’t die here, did he?” Steve asks.

Tony exchanges a look with Bruce. “No,” he says. “Look, you’re not going to like this.”


End file.
